


hidden in the harmonies

by softshark



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, but more or less every relevant character from the second and third ages will make an appearance, not going to tag every character who appears in this as there are a lot, other major characters will be added to the tags as they come in to the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-09-07 00:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softshark/pseuds/softshark
Summary: unsung tales of maglor through the ages. his story, and elrond's role in it, from the dawn of the second age down to the departure of the last ship west, told through the peoples and places that come in and out of his life.ora mad attempt to scribble maglor's story in the margins of all the tales of the later ages of arda. because damnation is easy, penance and forgiveness is harder.





	1. prologue: maedhros

“He does not deserve this.” Gil-galad said, in his deep, sonorous voice.

Elrond placed the bouquet of blue bells on the little mound where he had burried Maedhros’ armor, and let his hand brush over the tombstone. It had been wrought by Celebrimbor, who said he did not mourn the death of Maedhros (though Elrond suspected otherwise), but for the sake of Elrond, and for the blood he had shared with Maedhros. Thus, he took up his grandmother’s skill and proved himself worthy of being not just the grandson of Fëanor, but Nerdanel, too.

It was the most beautiful piece of stone work, in it’s tender simplicity, that Elrond had ever seen.

He turned back to look at Gil-galad, “Maybe not. But he lived, and made an impact on this world, for better or for worse, and I think..... I think that is worth remembering. And that he, for that reason, should have some place that is his. I thank you for coming with me to do this, by the way. So that I was not alone.” Elrond flicked his eyes north-west, his heart longing for his brother.

“For the love I bear you, I stomach it.” He placed his hand on Elrond’s shoulder, and sighed. “And for the love I bore, and still bear, Fingon. I know that he would want this.” He turned back to Elrond. “He does not deserve your love. Nor Fingon’s. Nor Elros’, he says nothing of what he feels, but we both know what’s in his heart.”

Elrond placed his hand over Gil-galad’s, and turned to look West, again, unsure if he was looking West towards his brother, or further West towards the place where his ancestors, both living and dead, resided. “I do not think....... That love is a matter of deserving or not deserving.”

There was quiet for a moment as they both regarded the tombstone quietly, letting the distant sound of the sea rumble in their ears. He had not erected Maedhros’ tomb within sight of it, but near enough that it could be heard.

And if ever Maglor wandered up this way…. He might see the stone and know that Elrond still loved them. Both of them.

“I think,” Elrond said softly, “There is no power, in all Eru’s creation, greater than love. And, I think it is something not even Eru understands.”

“That is blaspheme, Elrond.” Gil-galad remarked, not sounding particularly concerned or affronted, and Elrond smiled softly. “I do not fear Eru. If he did not intervene to fell Morgoth, I doubt he will ever intervene in our affairs. And I think anyone who had the power to stop evil, and chose not to, is not someone who understands love.” Elrond tipped his head to lay it on top of his hand, on top of Gil-galad’s, on top of his shoulder, and let it rest there. “Do not think I underestimate the true horror of his actions….” Elrond blinked back tears, “But Maedhros knew love. He knew it, and felt it acutely and deeply. And, for a time, at least, he fought desperately for love and goodness. That matters.”

_And it was love, not greed or rage, that led him down the path of darkness in the first place_, Elrond thought to himself.

Feeling, suddenly, the resounding loneliness of all those who had wandered out of his life, he shuffled close to Gil-galad, who understood and pulled him close, wrapping his cloak around him, and Elrond’s eyes fluttered close, recalling how Maedhros would do this when they had to make a long trek through the bitter winds of winter and the pounding snow.

“I think anyone who feels love, and _is_loved, and loved as truly as Maedhros was, even by just one person...... Cannot be wholly evil.”

Gil-galad made no comment, and Elrond let the silence settle over them for a while.

“Anyone who has it in their heart to love as passionately as he did….” Elrond murmured, trailing off.

The waves rolled in the distance, and in their gentle roar, Elrond could hear the passage of time.

“Fingon loved blue bells.” Gil-galad said nodding at the bouquet on the ground. “Is that why you chose them?”

“No,” Elrond shook his head. “If Fingon loved Blue bells, it is because Maedhros did. Maedhros always said Fingon’s eyes were the color of blue bells, when he told us tales of him, and he loved them for that.”

Gil-galad snorted, and Elrond smiled. Gil-galad hated saccharine sentimentality in all its forms.

Elrond grinned. “Someday, Erenion Gil-galad, you shall have a spouse, and you will have no choice, then, but to be sentimental. Even Mandos the stone hearted yielded to the sentiment of true love.”

“I shall take no spouse.” Gil-galad said resolutely, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, “I enjoy my spacious bed at night, and I enjoy not feeling warm, tenderness in my heart. Furthermore, it was not the sentiment of true love he yielded to, it was the trappings of marriage, I am sure of it. How could he turn down a lady asking if he knows love enough to grant her mercy, in front of his own wife? I imagine she’d be furious. As you know, the Valar do not forgive so easily. I shall enjoy my solitude, and flaunt the strength of my uncompromised stone heart for Mandos to envy.”

Elrond smiled, and they turned to go. Mithlond was not so far from the tomb, it could be seen from it, in fact. Maedhros was one of the Eldar, and Elrond had wished for him to still be a part of their people, in some way. No matter how he had fallen, and even if he and his brother had thought they no longer deserved or had a place among them, they were still a children of the stars, and they were a race who craved community. Elrond was endlessly grateful to Gil-galad’s generosity in allowing a monument to Maedhros the Accursed to be built so close to a settlement.

“Go ahead without me, for a way, Erenion.” Elrond said suddenly. “I won’t be long, I shall catch up.”

Gil-galad nodded, and continued his trek, as Elrond turned back to the stone.

He knelt, and let his hand run over the inscription once again. At the top of it was a beautifully carved Feanorean star, so intricate in detail it almost looked like it was glowing in the stone. It shone over a small picture of rolling hills, with a great fortress atop the tallest. Underneath it, was the epithet.

Here lieth Maedhros Fëanorion, lord of Himring, and prince of the Ñoldor.

“Day has come, Maedhros, night has passed.” Elrond murmured, sadness seizing his heart, “Like I always told you it would. I am sorry you did not live to see it. For all that evil that you did in the dark, I know you fought for the light. And it would not have come if not for you.”

He rested his hand gently on the Fëanorean star, and he felt it echo in his soul. He had none of Fëanor’s blood in him, but one’s blood and one’s soul (especially the sons of men, as Elrond was) were not the same. The line of Fëanor was a part of him.

Elrond stood, to follow Gil-galad, and threw one last look West, towards the sea, towards his brother, and, further west still, to their kin who lived a world away.

_I think the line of Fëanor has a part to play in my life, yet, Elros_. And he smiled as he heard, either on the sea wind or in his mind, the ghost of a long suffering sigh.

The darkness was over, and Elrond felt the hope of an open world filled with light, opportunity, and promise open before him, and in the distance, a song of sadness of days past echoed in the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! after a long writing hiatus i am BACK, and looking forward to getting back into the swing of it. this is going to be a long slog, but it's a passion project i've been wanting to do for ages, and i hope you enjoy!  
((ps, if you're waiting on an update from one certain wip of mine... don't worry, i promise i have not forgotten, it will come soon <3))


	2. i: elrond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm going to misuse semi colons, yes I'm going to abuse commas, yes I'm going to misconjugate Quenya, please just deal with it I'm just a semi-literate anglophone I doing my best with this cursed language. (And the cursed conlang as well.)

Elrond sat in the quiet peace near Maedhros’ grave, where he had begun to make regular pilgrimage to- at first out of duty, and a sense of devotion (for no one else would ever come), but Elrond found, eventually, that he came here because he enjoyed it. It was quiet, and peaceful, and it felt safe. It felt hallowed.

And it was Elrond’s.

There was little in the world that was his, _truly _his. He had never made anything, was known for nothing more than being son of Eärendil, herald to Gil-galad, and now brother to the first King of Númenor.  
He supposed he was known for being _the _Peredhel, with a capital P, but he knew he was not the first, nor, certainly, would he be the last. He wasn’t even the only. Elros existed, and surely Elros was the greater of the two, with his kingship over the Land of Gift and his new role now as the herald of a new age for men.  
Many Elves, Elrond knew, had looked to him to play a same role for them, but. Elrond hadn’t wanted it. He understood what everyone else didn’t, what even Elros sometimes didn’t seem to understand.

They were not special. They did not hold some great power.

They were just children.

Children who could claim some of Arda’s greatest heroes as their ancestors, born in the crosshairs of the cataclysm of an age.

Elrond knew he was still, in many ways, a child; that he was not special (except for maybe he was a little gifted in magicbn through his relation to Melian), and he knew that the only things that made Elros great was the narrative people had built up around him in their minds, all the blessings and gifts from the Valar to reinforce that narrative, and Elros’ willingness and ability to play the character everyone wanted him to.

But Elrond didn’t want to play a part, and he wouldn’t have been good at it anyway. Furthermore, the Valar had given the Elves no blessings or gifts. All they were given was the chance to return to the bird cage the Valar had built for them, a choice most of them had spit at.

Elrond could not be what people wanted him to be, and many people were beginning to realize this. Elrond knew people were disappointed in him, but they would have been disappointed even if he had made an attempt to live up to what they’d wanted.

The truth was, Elrond was lonely. In his heart he felt alone, disconnected from everyone. He had been born as one half of a whole, learning to be an individual without Elros as a quintessential part of himself was….. Hard, to say the least, and there was no one to whom Elrond could open up to. There was hardly anyone in his life with whom Elrond could consider himself close with at all.

There was Celebrimbor, with who Elrond had struck up a great friendship, and the two had even come to see themselves as cousins, _first _cousins, as the children of Fingolfin and Finarfin may have seen each other; but there was much that could not be said between them, for their relationships with their Fëanorion fathers, and all that had passed, was very different.

So too was there Gil-galad, who, though he was somewhere between a father and a brother to Elrond, was also Elrond’s king, and king to all who dwelt in the lands of Lindon.

In Mithlond, the great port city to be, there was ceaseless, never ending hustle and bustle. Thriving with constant buzz and activity, and it only made the loneliness worse; but here, on this lonely hill, with no one around, it helped somehow. In the earliest years of Elrond’s life, Maedhros’ arms had been haven, there was nothing they could not protect him from, not even his own sorrow, so it made sense to Elrond, self-aware as he was, that he would come to seek those arms out in the only way he could.

Elrond didn’t know where Maedhros’ fëa was (and it was not something he liked to think about), and, though he did not like acknowledging the Valar’s existence, for he bore them very little love, he was not proud enough that he wouldn’t pray to Mandos for mercy- so pray he did. And with the comfort of his prayers, and successfully not thinking too deeply on the issue, it became easy for him to accept the sense of peace at the gravesite as meaning Maedhros’ fëa was at peace.

“I wonder if you are here, sometimes, Maedhros.” Elrond said, softly and absentmindedly, trimming some weeds with his knife. He had taken to gardening, at least around Maedhros’ tomb, and he had cultivated a fine patch of bluebells and poppies. “Sometimes I think I can almost feel your presence, but maybe I am just a desperate fool who has lost far too many loved ones.” He smiled, amused, “And _you_cannot run from me because you are dead. Maybe this tomb stone was much less selfless than I thought.”

Middle-earth was a different kind of place than Beleriand had been, the forests were more ancient, more wild, and it felt as if spirits unseen walked in them. The Elves who had come from Beleriand had assumed they were Maiar, and maybe some of them were, but the silvan Elves of the land had told them that their people did not heed the calls of Mandos, that even in death their fëar did not depart from the land they loved.

Elrond let his hand run over the tallest of the poppy flowers he had grown- he’d chosen them for their bright, scorching red color, and their odd shape that should make them ugly and unappealing, but only made them all the more lovelier.

They were a shock against the radiant, gentle sapphire of the bluebells, but, somehow, they went together exquisitely.

“I’m so lonely, Maedhros…. And, though I want you here with me, a bigger part of me prays that you made it to the Halls, and found pity there, and Fingon. Oh, I hope you found him.” He stroked the soft petals of the bluebells, and Elrond smiled at the mingled flower patch, and tears rolled down his face. He had found the idea so very alluring, the spirits of Elves not leaving the place they had called home, staying where they had lived, where they had bled, and loved, where there were still those who loved them. But even if that could be, Maedhros was an Elf of the West- in Beleriand he had fought, and bled, but the happiest years of his life had happened beyond these shores, and all of whom he had loved, save Elrond, had gone back there too. It was there that his fëa belonged.

“I am lonely.....” He murmured again, “I only have Erenion but he is not.... Truly mine, for he has his people. Our people. They are first in his heart. And Elros has his, now, too. My parents have each other and..... I hope you have Fingon. Truly I hope you are together, and that you are with your brothers, too.” Even if Maedhros’ fëa had gone to the Everlasting Darkness, though Elrond loathed to consider it, at least he was not alone there. His brothers would be with him, they would be with each other always, and that’s what mattered most, wasn’t it? No darkness was unbearable, so long as someone had at least one other soul to curl around, to cherish and be cherished by. “It’s horrid of me,” he continued as his tears began to brim over and fall hot down his face, “but in recent days, I’ve almost envied the pact you and your brothers had together. I always thought..... Elros and I always thought.... We would be by each other’s sides forever, that our paths would never diverge but it...... that wasn’t to be. And in no time at all he will leave me, forever, where I can never go and I am terrified of it. I don’t know how I will go on without him, especially not- especially not by myself-“

“Elrond?”

Elrond jumped in response to his name, leaping to his feet, hand flying to his sword hilt. The voice that had fallen on his ears was soft, and familiar, but time, and suffering, had changed it; and, for a moment, Elrond thought he was either going mad, or was being visited by a ghost.

But then his eyes connected with the real, physical, flesh and blood figure that had emerged over the edge of the hill, and Elrond’s hand fell away from his blade.

“Maglor....?”

The sound came out as a breath of disbelief, his mouth hanging open, heart ripped bare.

It was undoubtedly Maglor- though his hair was overgrown, shaggy, and knotted; and his face, or what Elrond could see of it beneath the hair, seemed gaunter than Elrond could ever remember.

But it was him. Those somber eyes like twilight, full of peaceful, beautiful light, and haunted by the darkest shadows. That inquisitive, kindly face that Elrond knew concealed wells of patience and compassion endlessly deep.

“Why do you despair, little star?” He asked, hoarse, and Elrond could have wept. Maglor had seemed just as surprised and dumbfounded to have actually stumbled across Elrond as Elrond was, but something like reflex or…. or paternal instinct had overpowered that and years of suffering and separation fell away as a familiar connection sprung up.

“Maglor!” He gasped, crossing the distance between them, and hurling his arms around him. Maglor _was _frail, rail thin, and Elrond clung to him, as if he was a wisp of memory that could be stopped from disappearing if Elrond just squeezed hard enough.

“So it is you?” He murmured, bringing his hands up to touch Elrond’s shoulder’s experimentally, “You are flesh and blood.... Oh, visions haunt me, Elrond, I am sometimes never sure what is real and what is not.......”

“It’s me, Maglor, I swear it.” Elrond said, pulling back to look at Maglor, who stumbled a bit, and blinked up at Elrond, who had caught him and held him firmly, “I am real. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” He seemed dazed. “I came looking for you.”

“Me?” Elrond

Maglor nodded, “You..... You and Elros. Though, I confess my heart yearned more dearly for you, for I am a selfish thing, and I knew I was more likely to find pity in you.”

“What do you mean? Wait, just, come here.” Maglor was weak, and needed food, drink and rest; and, if this was to be a reunion, Elrond was going to situate them, to make it feel permanent, make it hard to run.

Maglor allowed Elrond to maneuver him in to a seating position nearer to Maedhros’ tombstone, but more specifically, near Elrond’s bag, from which Elrond pulled a water pouch and packets of way-bread.

“Coimas,” Maglor breathed, eyes going wide, as Elrond handed it to him.  
“Lembas.” Elrond corrected, “The Sindar call it lembas.”  
“I did not know they had their own recipe.” Maglor said in wonder, guzzling from Elrond’s water pouch before placing the bread upon his tongue reverently, and moaning slightly; though Elrond could not tell whether it was from the pleasure of the lembas specifically, or food in general.  
“Most of us didn’t. Melian taught them how to create it, apparently the corn that is used as its base was grown only in Doriath.”

They say in silence for a long while, Maglor guzzling the water and consuming the bread with relish. Elrond watched him and let the feeling of amazement and pure joy wash over his heart. He couldn't beleive Maglor was here, delivered to him by fate itself. There was much they needed to talk about, but Elrond wanted to cherish the purity of this feeling for just a little while longer. To bask in familiarity and love after long years apart. 

Maglor, too, seemed to be reflecting on something, looking away, as he finished his bread and the water, and Elrond reached, warily, for Maglor’s left hand, which he had been keeping tucked close to him, and turned it upwards to assess the damage. Elrond had an idea as to what may have caused it.

Elrond ran his fingers over it in horror, and Maglor looked down at it mildly. “I could not die, Elrond…. When Maedhros pitched himself in to the fire I..... Was supposed to follow after him, to go with him, to go to our brothers...... But I didn’t. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I ran to the sea, instead, and threw the accursed.....” He swallowed, “I rid myself of that which had tortured me for 500 years.”  


“It’s been said that the Silmarils burned you both, and drove you to madness. It did this?”   


“It did.” Maglor affirmed, “But the Silmarils drove us to madness long before we ever laid hands on them. It was not the pain on our flesh that compelled Maedhros to do what he did- has too high a tolerance for pain to succumb to it when I… Or anyone else hadn’t.” Maglor flexed his hand, and Elrond realized it was almost paralyzed, and began to massage it. Maglor shook his head, “It wasn’t the pain of the flesh, no… It was… The pain in his soul. The fulfillment of the Oath was too much….”

Elrond blinked in surprise, “The Oath… The fulfillment of it….? But I don’t understand, that should have freed-“  
“No,” Maglor breathed, eyes shining, looking out in the distance, eyes seeing somewhere far, far farther than anything Elrond could even understand, “We allowed the Oath to consume us, to rip out our fëar and take their places. Once it was gone…. There was nothing left. We had nothing left in us but un-light.”  
Elrond was silent, he had questions, but could not verbalize them, and Maglor turned to look at the tombstone. “You did that?”  
“Yes….” Elrond felt hesitant, suddenly, slightly guilty even, and his voice reflected it. He did not know what Maglor’s feelings were for his brother. Elrond had since come to understand just how truly complicated Maglor and Maedhros’ relationship was, especially in the late years of it, and Elrond could not even begin to fathom what it was like now.  
“Why?” Maglor asked, as follow up, surprising Elrond with how he sounded almost _wistful._

And then the feeling in Elrond’s heart shifted, suddenly, and hardened with absolute resolution.

“Because I loved him.”  
Maglor turned to look at him, his expression unreadable, and powerful without meaning to be. It sought explanation.  
“Did you not erect a mound for your father at his death?” Elrond asked, unflinching, “Despite what darkness he descended into at the end of his life, you remembered enough of his goodness and love for you to build him a monument. And I think your father dealt you greater harm than you ever dealt me.”

Maglor laughed, “Oh, Elrond, you are so good of heart. Who in your life has hurt you, if not me? If not my brothers?”

Elrond pulled some spare bandages out of his bag, feeling the urge to make his hands busy, and began to gently bandage up Maglor’s hand. Elrond considered this question for a moment.

“I do not dwell too much on who hurt me, because I think most of the hurts in my life were merely collateral of the actions that were done by others in _their _hurt.” Elrond began to roll the bandages around Maglor’s hand, “If I spend my life dwelling on my pain, and who caused it, I will do nothing but continue that endless cycle of pain. I don’t want to end up being someone who feels nothing in life but hurt, and allows it to contribute to more hurt.” Elrond repositioned himself behind Maglor, having finished the process of bandaging his hand, and began to run his hands through the mess of his hair, and grimaced.

“I don’t know why I didn’t die.” Maglor murmured, “I don’t know why I didn’t follow him into the darkness…. Why I chose to linger on in this life of pain and torment. All I had left was Maedhros so I don’t know why…. When he died.”  
Elrond didn’t make a response, for this had been bothering Elrond since earlier, when Maglor had mentioned that the Oath had left nothing inside them but un-light, once it had been fulfilled. Pulling his knife from his belt, he began to gently cut at the worst of the knots, hoping that allowing Maglor to speak uninterrupted would bring him to the answer, both for himself and Elrond, and if Maglor did notice Elrond’s blade in his hair, trimming away what was dead and ruined of it, he didn’t say anything.

“When I saw Maedhros go over the edge I… It made sense to me, of course it did, we belonged with our brothers, Maedhros and I, now that the Oath was fulfilled. The Sons of Fëanor had always been of one mind, and one will- and our deeds were no worse than theirs. In truth, we inflicted more evil on the world, even if only because they died sooner, but….” Maglor tilted his head toward the sky, “When I watched him go over the edge I felt…. I felt angry. I felt rage at, at Maedhros, and at…. I couldn’t understand, I couldn’t understand what it was all for if only to die at the end. Death…. Death isn’t freedom, it can’t be.”

Elrond laid his knife down and set to work tying Maglor’s now drastically shorter hair back out of his face. He had not meant to cut so much off, but so much of it was ruined beyond saving anyway, why not just cut it off? “Maglor… Why did you come here? Why did you seek me out?”

Maglor turned around, his hair falling out of Elrond’s hands, and the braid that he had begun slipped loose.

“To tell you I am sorry.” His voice cracked, but his gaze didn’t waiver. “I promise that I intend to ask nothing of you- I am not even asking for your forgiveness. I have not earned that. But I need you to know, with all my heart, that I am sorry. For everything. That, despite everything else, the time I spent with you was the happiest of my life, and all the pain in the world was worth it. I needed you to know that.”

“Is that…. The only reason?” Elrond asked, biting his lip.

Maglor looked down, considering this. “I…. I don’t know. When I clutched the Silmaril…. It burned so bright, brighter than I could ever remember, and it cast a shadow in my soul so dark it was like the un-light of Ungoliant…. I had thought that it was the Void, opening up inside me with the absence of the Oath but….. When I cast the Silmaril into the sea and it’s light grew fainter, the dark in me grew less dark……” Maglor was not looking at him, but his able hand found one of Elrond’s in the grass and squeezed it. “And there was a light, in the very heart of me, growing larger and larger as the Silmaril dimmed. And it was you, and Elros, and the love you bore me.” Tears began to roll down Maglor’s face from his shut eyes, “For you loved me, at least you did, once, and it felt as if, so long as there was someone in this world who loved me, there was a place for me in it.”

“Then,” Elrond said, sitting up on his knees, fighting back tears as triumphant joy welled up in his hear. He took chunks of the hair framing Maglor’s face to braid them back, “I would have you know, that there is nothing for you to apologize for. I do not hold you to blame….. Not that I do not think you are blameless, or that your deeds were not heinous but…. For the hurt I have suffered, personally, I blame you not at all. And I know that in your heart you are not evil.”

Maglor exhaled a sigh, it seemed almost like relief, “And I am glad….. However terrible the circumstances were, and even if I would have change the how, I am glad you came to be like a father to me.” Maglor, who’s eyes had opened, closed them again, leaning in to the love inherent in the motion of Elrond’s fingers in his hair.

“Maglor, is the Oath…. Is it truly gone?”  
Maglor’s eyes fluttered back open, and he was level with an old scar that sat across Elrond’s collar bone, and he reached out to touch it. “The scar of the Oath will…. Always be upon me, always haunt me and mark me…. But I believe that the wound is closed, yes…”  
He looked up at Elrond, just as Elrond pulled back and away, having successfully finished with Maglor’s hair, and Elrond smiled at the sight of his face, gaunt as it was, it was familiar, and beloved.  
“Then stay with me.”  
Maglor sat up right, eyes widening. Elrond himself couldn’t believe he had said the words aloud, but, he was also more certain of it than he’d ever been of anything in his life. “I’m… I’m immortal, Maglor, did you know? The Valar let us choose, Elros and I, whether to be mortal or immortal. Elros chose mortality but I, I chose…”

“Oh…” Maglor breathed, eyes blown wider than Elrond had ever seen them. He knew Maglor must have assumed, like everyone else, that Elrond and Elros would die mortal deaths, and Elrond couldn't fathom what this news was making him feel. It made Elrond feel almost shy.

“I don’t know why I chose to live, either. Why I chose to consign myself to an eternity in a world that I’ve only… Has only ever taught me pain and loss. Especially….” Elrond wiped his tears away, “Elros is all I’ve ever had, and some day, someday soon he’ll go into the dark, and I’ll never see him again….” Elrond didn’t like to think about it…. He hated to think about the impending loss of Elros but…. For the first time it felt bearable. To talk about it with someone who knew, who understood, who had lost in a similar way to what Elrond will,“I don’t know why I chose …. What I chose, but I…. I do not want to die. There is so much life left to live, what was all this suffering for if I cannot experience joy tenfold more than what I have suffered? And if I have lived when so many others have died… I want to know why. And even if I never know why, even if there’s no reason-“  
Maglor placed his uninjured hand in Elrond’s, and Elrond exhaled a little.

“Say you’ll stay with me, Maglor.”  
“I can never be as one of the Eldar again, Elrond. You would have to choose to be with them or me. You belong with them.”  
“Nonsense. You can’t just stop being an Elda, and for an undying people, you lot do throw around ‘forever’ and ‘never’, a lot. You told me yourself that for everything to come to naught but death would only be an intolerable waste…. What great difference is there between that and an eternity of wandering alone, in pain and regret? There is forgiveness in this world, yet. There is so much forgiveness.” He placed his hand over Maglor’s heart, “Our stories are different, Maglor, but the songs our hearts seem to be singing are so similar, let us raise them up together. Your song does not end with the Silmarilindalë, it has tales yet to tell.”  
“No…” Maglor moved and placed both his hands over Elrond’s heart, “You are wrong. My song has come to an end….. But I hear in the distance a new song beginning, and in that, I shall sing the harmonies, if I may.” He moved his good hand to stroke a finger over his cheek. “If you will have me, then I shall stay by your side, as long as you let me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing and editing this was a painful never ending saga, no energy left to author note, just please enjoy! And thank you for all your kind feedback on the last chapter. Gil-galad next!


	3. ii - gil-galad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> naming note: the choice to make hala's name masculine sounding is intentional, and will be explained later.  
translation note: elya means 'my star'

“Damn the entire line of Finwë, Illúvatar hear me, damn them all!” Gil-galad declared to the rafters of his throne room.

“Don’t invoke Illúvatar’s name like that!” Elrond snapped, from where he was standing halfway up the steps of the throne dais. “And you are part of the line of Finwë, far more a part of it than me.”

“Then damn me too!” Gil-galad snapped back. “Elrond are you out of your mind?! What the hell were you thinking bringing him here?!”

“I was thinking,” Elrond said, earnestly, “That I needed to discuss this with you, immediately, but that I could not leave him behind- you haven’t seen him, Erenion, he’s… He’s a mess, he’s not well. I promise you I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any other choice.”

Gil-galad snorted. At present, he was trying to come to terms with the fact that, like some child dragging a feral animal into the house, Elrond had found the last of the Fëanorion kinslayers from the brink of oblivion and brought him back into the folds of Eldarin civilization. “You did have another choice? You could have left him, you could have driven him away and turned your back to him. You truly have no idea what it is you’ve done, do you?”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed, and a dark fire came in to them- Gil-galad knew he was gearing Elrond up for a fight, and Elrond  _ could fight _ when prompted, but, so too could Gil-galad.

“ _ You _ are making a bigger deal out of him than he is! I couldn’t have left him behind, let alone drive him away, he’s  _ my father _ , Erenion.”

Gil-galad sighed, gritting his and pinching his nose. “He is not your father, Elrond.”

“He is!” Elrond yanked on his hair, “Círdan told me that my hair was dark brown when I was born, and that my eyes were blue-“

“-Of course he did,” Gil-galad muttered, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

“-They changed to be like Maglor’s! My fëa knows him to be my father! A father is someone who held you in his arms as a child, who made you feel safe when you were scared, taught you your letters and other important life lessons, a father is someone who’s there, holding your hand as you grow.”

“Maybe so,” Gil-galad said, standing, towering over Elrond who didn’t so much as flinch, “But that doesn’t change the fact that he took you when he should not have-“

“My parents abandoned me!” Elrond said, flatly, “They abandoned me and my brother and that is the truth that no one wants to acknowledge, because it defies the carefully constructed moral narrative that you all cling to  _ so _ desperately. People are not good or evil, Erenion! You should know better! My parents were younger than I am now when I was born, and I myself feel barely more than a child! I do not blame them for leaving me behind, I feel no resentment towards them; I respect and admire Eärendil and I  _ pity _ Elwing, and if I am blessed to ever meet them again before the end of all things, I shall embrace them with affection. It is possible for them to have failed as parents and still be good people. Just as it is possible for Maglor to have failed in… In so many other ways and have been a good father.”

“You make it sound as though they willingly left you behind, that you were there for the taking-“

“That is not my intent, and you know it! Did I not say that I recognize the pressure of coming in to parenthood so young? Do you think I’m not aware of the terror and desperation they must have felt in the final years of the last age? I  _ know _ , Erenion, but I will not tolerate the accusation that Maglor or Maedhros are the reason my parents weren’t there for me, it’s a false narrative! Eärendil left these shores before the Fëanorions came to the havens, and he knew full well he was unlikely to ever come back. My mother….”

And Gil-galad saw something unexpected happen, something in Elrond’s face softened, and his eyes suddenly seemed far away. “I don’t remember much from my life before Maglor and Maedhros. I can remember things….. vaguely, but I know she wasn’t there. Because I can barely remember her. I have a few memories of her holding me, or Elros, but what I recall of her face she always seemed. Lost. Most of my memories are of other people. People who’s names I don’t know, probably never will. People long dead……

“Elrond-“ Erenion said, reaching out for him, and feeling some of the fight go out of himself, “I know that you….. Have not had much in the way of family in your life-“

“No, Erenion don’t.” Elrond pulled away from his hand. “Don’t.”

“But Maglor-“

“Don’t! Don’t you dare!” Elrond hissed. “Don’t you dare try to convince me that I love him only because I lacked the love of others in my life. I am not so pathetic, I’m not so naïve.”

“It does not make you naïve or pathetic, to have grown to love him, but you have to understand, they took advantage of your childhood and groomed you to see them as something they were not-“

“Do you know what my first memory is, Erenion?” Elrond’s voice came out clear, and firm. Gil-galad made no answer, and it was a wary invitation for Elrond to continue, and Elrond looked up at him with blazing eyes. “And I mean my first clear memory, that I can put to a date, an event. That I can contextualize and remember it in a chronological narrative. My first, true, clear memory is Maedhros driving his blade through another elf’s throat.”

Gil-galad inhaled sharply through his nose, and Elrond slowed down not at all. 

“He never knew, I never told him. From where we were hiding, we looked out and watched the Fëanorean host slaughter our people. We were so young….. All we could see was red, all we could hear was screaming, and the singing of silver cutting through air and flesh. The smell of metal burned our throats and noses and I don’t know whether it was the steel in the air or the blood…… But more than anything, I remember seeing Maedhros for the first time, and he was red, so red. His hair, his cloak, his gloves- the blood from head to toe…. I remember all of it, so crystal clear, but clearest of all…..” Elrond wiped tears from his eyes, but his expression remained resolute. “He was crying. When he slaughtered another elf with no hesitation, he was crying, weeping. I’d never seen anyone so sad, so heartbroken…. And I never have, ever since. I’m going to live…. A long time, so I may yet see a sadness greater than the one I saw in Maedhros’ that night, but it seems so unlikely, and I pray that I won’t, I wish it on no one. When Maglor carried me away, he was covered in the blood of my people, and in his arms I became covered in it, too. I was young, but I understood what it was. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is….. Elros and I weren’t unaware of who and what they were when they took us.” Elrond wiped another tear away. “A wolf may be a wolf, but a wolf with a pup is still a parent, just as any lamb, or elf, or man; a wolf will eat babes but, it won’t eat it’s own…… We knew what they were, we had no misunderstanding, but we were children, and they were adults. And we were scared, and alone. And we understood they wouldn’t kill us, and they could keep us safe from those that would.”

“They shouldn’t have taken the pair of you.” Gil-galad said, sorrowfully, heartbroken for Elrond, for all the monstrous mess of emotions he must have to deal with, but the truth was still the truth. “Círdan and I were not so far that anyone else would have reached you before we, they knew that. They should have left you.”

“They were going to.”

Gil-galad raised his brow, and Elrond blinked at him. 

“They were going to…… And we asked them not to.”

Gil-galad raised cocked his head, and sat back in his chair.  _ Explain. _

_ - _

“We cannot leave them, Káno….”

Maglor was able to see it in his older brother’s eyes, and the fear that it made pool in his belly turned to a flood at hearing it said out loud.

Maedhros was looking at the pair of twins in front of them with wide, unfathomable eyes. Guilt and horror shone in them, and their reflections in the deep granite hued eyes seemed to flicker from their own, to their children that would have been their uncles, to Maedhros and Maglor’s own twin brothers.

The guilt from those four deaths was rearing it’s poison in Maedhros’ heart, and Maglor seized his arm, screaming over into his mind, ‘don’t think of them, come back to me, come back to the present, look at me, don’t look at them’, “We must, Nelyo. If we do not leave soon, Círdan and the king shall be here, and if we are not gone-“

“You go.” Maedhros said softly, still not taking his eyes from the twins, looking at them with wide eyes, and they, though Maglor himself would not look at them, knew they were gazing back at him too. 

“No, Nelyo.”

“You go, Káno. I shall stay. We cannot leave them behind, I shall stay with them until Círdan and Gil-galad come.”

“They will kill you!!” Maglor cried.

“Yes…” 

“The Oath-“ He choked (the Oath the Oath, damn the Oath, damn Maedhros!) Maglor had quelled it and quieted it in his heart, he had been finding away to live with it, to fight it, to leave it behind when  _ Maedhros _ had caved in to it, once again, and dragged Maglor along with him, and now, and  _ now _ , Maedhros wants to abandon him-?! “I cannot handle it on my own, Maedhros, I cannot- you cannot leave me! Maedhros, Nelyo, look at me!”

He yanked his brother hard, and when his eyes came to face his, they were dazed, “Nothing will happen to them! We have to go-“ 

“NO!” One of the little twins cried out, and Maglor fought the reflex to turn to face them.

“No, please do not leave us here, we are frightened…. Please, take us with you….”

Something seized in Maglor’s heart, and he turned to face entirely away from them. “There are….. Good people coming,” Maglor’s brother said, voice hoarse and pained, “They will be here shortly. No harm shall come to you between now and then. You are better off with them.”

Maglor inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, and was startled when he felt tiny little fists sink in to the cloth of his pants and, reflexively, he turned to look down, facing them at last. The little twin who was clinging to him, shining eyes wide with fear and heart break, looked up with all the pleading desperation that Maglor knew  _ he _ had had looking up at Maedhros. 

“You’re scared.” The little one said, “You’re sc-scared and lonely. I can tell, but, please, we are too. Please don’t leave us. Take us with you.”

-

“Maglor….?” When Maglor woke, it was to the feeling of a soft hand in his hair, and a gentle voice in his ear. Early dawn light was trickling through the window, and a warm body was kneeling in front of him.

“Hello….” Elrond said, with a warm, inexplicably relieved smile, “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Maglor smiled at him, “I dreamed….” He began, before registering another presence in the room, and sitting up he turned to face, he could only assume, Erenion Gil-galad. Maglor blinked up at him in surprise, and Elrond rose to sit next to Maglor on the bed, and put his hand over his.

“Maglor, this-“

“You are His Highness, Erenion Gil-galad, I presume?” Maglor asked, untucking his legs to stand, shakily, and Elrond rushed up to assist him. 

“I am.” 

Maglor bowed, deeply, and prayed that it did not come out sardonically, as it was not his intent. He wanted to do things  _ correctly _ , properly. He had very little hope, unlike Elrond, that he would ever be welcomed back into the fold of the Eldar, but… He hoped that perhaps he would be at least tolerated to live adjacent to them. That Elrond might be allowed to see him, and respect and reverence to the only declared King amongst the Elves of the West was very much a requirement to achieve those ends. 

Sinking into a bow, Maglor stumbled a bit, Elrond catching him, and he remained in the bow until Gil-galad gave him leave.

Maglor could feel himself being assessed, the High King’s eyes raking over him and taking him in, before he let out a sigh, and Maglor raised his eyes to look at him, brow arched, slightly. 

“You have a lot of nerve coming back here, you know that?”

“Erenion.” Elrond said sharply, warningly. 

“I confess, I rather can’t believe I’m here either.” He hadn’t been entirely lucid when they had made the journey, but Maglor had insisted on waiting at Maedhros’ memorial while Elrond went to Gil-galad, and when he had lost that battle, he had made the argument for being left at the gates of the city while on their journey there- but by the time they reached the city, Maglor was weak and weary from the journey, and was not at his full capacities. 

Maglor realized, looking at Gil-galad’s face, that Gil-galad got all of that. Maglor’s mind was an open book, his thoughts pouring out for even someone with only basic osanwë skills.

** _‘_ ** _ Would you have me believe you are harmless because you are half insane?’  _ He asked, the question would seem accusatory and combative if the tone were not so mild and objective. 

_ ‘No, king.’  _ Maglor replied,  _ ‘I would never have anyone believe that any of the House of Fëanor could ever be harmless. And we are most lethal when we are out of our minds.’ _

“Would you two care to share what you’re conversing about?” Elrond asked, angrily, and the accompanying glare was directed at Gil-galad.

“Your charge is making the case for why I shouldn’t allow him anywhere near our people.”

The glare turned to Maglor now, fiery, furious and accusatory. 

“What did you say to him?!”

“The truth, elya. That the House of Fëanor will never not be dangerous.”

Elrond made a frustrated growling sound, and turned to Gil-galad, “Don’t listen to him!”

“I don’t intend on listening to either of you.” Gil-galad cut in, frankly, “Elrond has already made his case, I only came to get a look at you myself.”

“Then you’ve made a decision already?” Maglor asked, softly. 

“No, I am going to seek counsel elsewhere, before I do.”

Maglor bowed his head, and Elrond asked, though a little more softly, “Do I get to know who you’re seeking out?”

“No.” Gil-galad said, in that frank tone Maglor was beginning to think was a fundamental part of him. “Though if you think on it I think you can likely figure it out. You will wait here,” He said to Maglor, “You will not leave this room, if I find that you have, there will be consequences.” 

“Yes,” Maglor whispered, bowing his head. As Gil-galad turned to go, Maglor said, “King? I want you to know I…. I do not  _ want _ to hurt anyone anymore. I never wanted to in the first place…. My brothers they all…. Even Maedhros to a certain extent, thought that violence was worth it if it meant we met our goals but I…. I never felt that way.” Maglor squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled. “I was against it, always. But I went along with it because I’m…. I am a coward. I have always been. I never wanted to leave Aman, I wished to stay with my mother, but I feared my father too much, feared his wrath. I am insufferably bad at being alone, and always my actions have been driven by fear of solitude. I feared the loss of my brothers, and their hate, if I didn’t go with them. I let fear rule me, I let it drive me to cruelty….” Maglor turned to sink on to the bed, feeling weak, suddenly, and shook his head. “I don’t want to you to think I’m not dangerous. I am, I always will be, I’ve washed my hands in blood too long not to be, but…. I wouldn’t have come back at all if I didn’t want to be different. If I didn’t want to leave cowardice and fear behind and be…. Better.”

He turned up to look at Elrond, who slipped his hand into Maglor’s and squeezed, and Gil-galad was struck by two memories. The first was of Orodreth, and how he looked at Finduilas once, as she braided his hair for him. It was an unimportant memory, but it had stuck with him, even after all this time. The second was of his own father, and something he had told him once, standing on a stern of a ship.  _ ‘We are all an amalgam of the good and bad we do and experience in life, my son. The greatest heroes are the ones who can look their bad in the eye, and choose to do good. And the highest form of justice you can deliver as a king, as a leader, is to empower your people to make that choice. To support them. Never let someone’s evil define them.’ _

Gil-galad nodded his head to the pair, and left. 

\- 

The sun was just fully breaking over the horizon as Gil-galad reached the docks, and though Gil-galad had no great, particular love for the sea as his father and his people had, whenever he found himself by the sea at sunrise, he always felt something like it was his favorite place in the world. 

“The sun rises on a beautiful morning, and Erenion Gil-galad comes to the shores of Mithlond to see me. But does he come as my king or as my son?”

Gil-galad turned his face skywards to smile at the familiar presence. His father was standing on the roof of one of the low-ceilinged houses that lined the docks, fixing it, and smiling down at Gil-galad warmly. 

“I come as both, this morning, Adar.”

“Good,” Círdan the Shipwright said, warmly, climbing down from the roof to come face to face with Erenion, placing his hand on Gil-galad’s shoulder and pulling him into an embrace. “Then that means I can lecture you for never coming to see your father.” 

Gil-galad laughed, “I am located a mere 20 minute walk from here. In the same city, Adar. If you long to see me so much, you may come visit me. In fact, you can even clearly see my residence from your own.” He said, pointing towards the soaring spire of the capitol building. 

“And I do come to visit you.” Cirdan replied, gently pulling Gil-galad along to take a seat on a bench. “But you could come visit  _ me  _ more. Now tell me, what has caused you to rise so early seeking me out, both as father and lieutenant?”

Gil-galad sighed, taking a seat next to Cirdan, “Elrond has done something…. Unbelievably foolish.”

Cirdan smiled, “As he tends to do. But I find his foolishness is often not as foolish as it may seem. What has he done?”

Gil-galad gave his father a serious, leveled look. “He has found Maglor Fëanorion, and brought him in to the city. He wishes for him to live here.”

Cirdan sat back, stretching thoughtfully and inhaling through his nose. “The last Fëanorion….. And he brought him into the city?”

“Yes…. Can you believe it?”

Cirdan laughed, “I can. But you cannot.”

“You are certainly far less distressed over this than I had anticipated.”

“A single Fëanorion does not scare me. Contrary to the mythos people have built up in their heads, they were able to do what they did because they had a group of trained fighters. Maglor is ferocious, and a gifted warrior, to be sure, but there are any number of trained fighters in this city that could easily subdue him. He is no balrog.”

Gil-galad thought on this, quietly, and Cirdan continued, “But that is not your only concern.”

“No….” He said, quietly, “I also worry about the message tolerance for him will send to people who have been hurt…. By him.”

“Hm.” Cirdan exhaled. 

“You sound unimpressed by my rationale.”

“It’s not unimpressed, only…. I think it is a misplaced thought.” Cirdan patted his hand on Gil-galad’s, “My boy…. You are so like your mother. Profound kindness hidden under a mask of stoic regality.”

“And not unlike you, either.” Gil-galad said, softly. 

“I do not think many would use the word regal to describe me, but I digress….” Cirdan turned to look at the sea. “The people whose hurts were so great that they could not leave the past behind them have departed these shores.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean….” He turned back to look at Gil-galad, “The Eldar of Beleriand were given a choice, at the end of the War. Those of us who wished to remain in the World that we fought and bled for, chose to remain here, to live  _ with _ it’s scars as we healed our own hurts and build a new future. Those who found…. That they could not heal their own hurts while remaining here, have left.”

“What are you trying to say, Adar?”

“I’m trying to say that I think most of the people who still reside here in Mithlond come to this place as a place of healing, not to hold on to old hurts. To forgive and be forgiven in turn. This place that you’ve built…. Rightly so do you call it a Haven. The people who live here come from all walks of life, all backgrounds. We put that aside to become one. Many of us, in the late, dark years of Beleriand, after the fall of the Union, did terrible things-“

“You did?” Gil-galad snorted. 

“Not particularly terrible things, no. But certainly things I do regret. And either way, I do not place myself above my fellow Eruchîn, be they Eldar, Atani, or Nogothrim. And I cannot know what anguish drives them to commit acts of madness or evil, or that I myself would never go there, and it is not my place to judge, either way.”

“Some might argue it is greed, and not anguish at all.”

“Maybe, in some cases. But I do not believe it was greed in the case of the Fëanorions. Nay, I am certain it was not.”

“You would have me grant him clemency, then? And allow him to live here?”

“I would have you do what you feel is right in your heart. But I believe….. That little is lost by forgiving him, and much to be gained. Maglor is not Morgoth, in forgiving him there is no great danger in granting him clemency, for he has not his power. Nor is he evil in his way. Let our people know this- That Mithlond is a place for forgiveness, for healing.”

Gil-galad sighed, sitting back and looking out at the sea. “In my heart I wish to do this. But I wish for him to face some consequences, and I’m not comfortable having him here, at least not right off the bat.”

Cirdan squinted out at a far north-western point, and smiled. “Have you thought of what to do about Forlond yet?”

Gil-galad turned to scrutinize his father critically, “You can’t possibly be suggesting I send him there? To lead it?”

Cirdan laughed, “No. I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually. I think you should send Hala there, to develop it.”

“Hala…” Gil-galad breathed thoughtfully, surprised he never considered it before. Halnor was a peredhel who had been born and raised in Thargelion. Gil-galad had first met her when she came to fight under his banner in the War, and had been a loyal and essential lieutenant to him ever since. 

She was also notoriously no-nonsense, and did not get hung up on past hurts…. What’s more, Caranthir had played a part in her upbringing, and Gil-galad knew her to be sympathetic towards him. 

“Send her there with a boatload of Noldor, and any men that might go with them. And send Elrond and his Maglor with them.”

Gil-galad exhaled through his nose. It was…. Not a bad idea. Mithlond was in possession of two satellite ports further West in the great bay. Harlond had come under the control of Celeborn, and he had taken many Sindar with him, those who had wished to live largely among their own people. It was flourishing as much as Mithlond as a trade city, doing business with the Men and Elves who lived south and east. Forlond…. Not so much. It lay to close and remote to the foothills of the Ered Luin. He had not any idea who to send to develop it, and thus far it was a collection of small houses, with a meagre smattering of individuals living there mostly as a claim on the land. North and west of Mithlond, there was only the great mansions of the dwarves of the Ered Luin, and most of whom remained of the Elves of the West were not on so good terms with dwarves.

But Hala.

Hala was of the folk of Thargelion, great traders with those very dwarves, what’s more, the dwarves were no fools, and their memories were long. They knew the Noldor to be most like them amongst the Eldar, and would remember their friendships with them, not least of all, with the Sons of Fëanor.

Gil-galad sighed, it was too good an idea to let pass. “I had wished for Elrond to remain by my side. My intent is for him to be my vice-regent.” 

“Yes, and the best leaders are ones who have been many places, and learned from many leaders. No better example is there of this than you.”

Gil-galad smiled. “I will speak to Hala….. Though I imagine the answer will most certainly be yes.” She had been growing impatient, he knew her spirit desired some task to which to bend its focus to.

Gil-galad stood, and looked out West, “Thank you, Adar.” He said softly. “I am luckiest of all kings, to have a father as my lieutenant, and you as a father.”

Cirdan smiled at him, and they sat in peace together for a while more.

-

It was late afternoon, by the time Gil-galad finally made it back to Elrond’s room, he knocked softly on the door, but did not wait for an answer before stepping in. He assessed the sight, thoughtfully. Elrond was sitting up at the head of his bed, arms wrapped around Maglor, asleep on his chest. Elrond’s eyes were wide and pleading the moment they connected with his.

“I have good news.”

Elrond’s ears twitched in a way that said, ‘Well?’, and Gil-galad had to suppress a smile. “The pair of you are going to Forlond.”

“To Forlond?” Elrond asked, perplexed.

“I’ve decided what to do with it.” Gil-galad said, sitting down, “We’ve benefitted greatly from the trade Harlond does with the south, I wish to see such growth in Forlond, I wish for it to be a trading city, as well, with focus on the dwarves from the Ered Luin.”

“The dwarves….” Elrond murmured, thoughtfully, his brows folded in consternation. 

“Yes. And who better to spearhead a trading venture with the dwarves than the Noldor? Hala shall be in command, she is going to spend the next few days gathering Noldor and men to go and populate it. You shall be her vice regent.”

“Oh…”

“And he.” Gil-galad said, eyes falling pointedly to Maglor’s face. “Shall be a part of it too. The Sons of Fëanor are still revered and respected amongst the dwarves, particularly so in the Ered Luin, I feel they will be much more inclined to open up trade with us if one of them is amongst us….”

Elrond looked down at Maglor in mild surprise.

“Do you think he’s up to it?”

“I…. Yes. I think he will be.”

“Do you understand my meaning in doing this, Elrond?” Gil-galad asked, firmly.

Elrond looked at him with wide eyes. 

“It gives him purpose, a place and a role amongst us.”

“I didn’t think someone had to have inherent societal value to deserve to exist.” Elrond mumbled, looking down and away. 

“They do not. But nothing will come from him clutching at the hem of your cloaks, following you around like your shadow and begging for forgiveness. It diminishes him, and it will diminish you, and forgiveness granted out of pity or apathy is no true forgiveness. Forgiveness comes from work, from re-earning trust, from building something palpable. Words mean little, effort…. That means something. Elrond, look at me.” Gil-galad said, and Elrond turned his face up to him, “Neither you, nor he, are being banished. Do you hear me?  _ You _ do not even have to go to Forlond, he can go on his own, if you wish. I merely presumed that would be your desire, and I think your experiences in Forlond will do you well. But this is not banishment, I am laying out a road to redemption for him.” Gil-galad squeezed his hand. “I  _ want _ him to find absolution, I  _ want _ him to earn forgiveness and build a new future for himself. For if  _ he _ can, we all can. Now, will you accept my offer? Will you two go build our future?”

There was quiet for a few moments, before Elrond finally made his answer.

“When do we leave?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey guess who's back! Sorry this took so long, my sob story is is that my computer crashed and I lost 3k words of the already written chapter, and then I got sick with a cold that lasted 3 weeks, like what the hell. Anyways, thank you for waiting, and please enjoy! And thank you to all the kind souls who have left comments so far, I've read every single one and they are so wonderful <3 The next chapter is half finished, so it will be posted very soon! Thank you for reading!


	4. iii - the grandchildren of fëanor, pt. 1

Maglor chewed his thumb nail thoughtfully, and looked at his pie equally thoughtfully. It was certainly not much to look at, but that didn’t mean it did not taste well enough. He sighed, and flexed his bad hand, the one that had been so terribly damaged by the Silmaril, and poked at the pie. Were his mother or Maitimo here, they would tell him the layers on his pastry were bad. But, really, who cared? There was fully cooked fish, carrots and rice on the inside, and it was certainly edible.

Elrond had eaten worse in his life, and so had Maglor- and this was just how things would have to be for now if Maglor was to be the home maker, and until he could figure out how to use his hand. _ I wonder how difficult it was for you, Maitimo... _ It wasn't like Maitimo had ever let Maglor in.

“I’m home!” Elrond said, breathlessly, as he opened the door to the little house they now called home. It was simple, just one room downstairs and one room upstairs, with a tiny shower stall out back. It was by no means anything fancy, but most of Forlond was this way- a small collection of small stone houses by the quayside. Elrond had winced when they arrived and had seen how much work there was to be done in order to make this a proper town. Maglor had to suppress a smile, at the memory, for he knew Elrond considered himself a Noldo, but there were few things less Noldorin than seeing an opportunity to build and feeling grief, and not pleasure. Maglor smiled again, at the memory.

“Maybe, I am not lacking in being Noldo," Elrond said, coming into the tiny corner that served as a kitchen, catching Maglor’s train of thought, "maybe I am just the unfortunate son of the most lazy Noldo who ever lived.”

“What a cruel thing to say about Eärendil.” Maglor replied, dryly, “I’m sure he’s done nothing to earn such vitriol.” Elrond flicked his ear in response. 

“Mmmmm,” Elrond smiled, breathing in the pie, “It smells lovely, Atya.” He said, smiling at Maglor. He had begun calling him that in private, just as he had as a child. Maglor supposed he should try to dissuade this practice, but he didn’t quite have it in him, and he was fairly certain it would be worthless to even try.

“But I have news!” Elrond said, as he began pulling plates out to set the table. “Hala is going to be coming, at last. She’s settled…. Whatever it is she was settling in Mithlond with Gil-galad and is going to be coming here tomorrow.”

“Hm.” Maglor said, handing the bowl of soup to Elrond and bringing the pie over to the table as the pair settled down to eat.

“It will be good to meet her, at last.” He said softly. “I thought she might never come.” Fear had been weighing on Maglor, though it had been centuries since Maglor had ever  _ not  _ had fear weigh on him, but this transition period he and Elrond were in.... Gil-galad had pardoned him, or something like pardoned, but had sent him away to live under the governance of another, and it felt now as if he were waiting for _ her  _ judgement. What if she deemed to send him away? It had only been a week by Elrond's side, but already Maglor could not imagine going back out into the wild on his own again..... The loneliness was unbearable, and the fear, the terrors that seized him.... They had eased, and he did not want them back, now.

“Me neither.” Elrond replied, breaking Maglor out of his anxious reverie, as he often did, and smiled in true, pure delight as he cut into the pie, causing the filling and it's aroma to spill out.

“And how are your preparations coming, my boy?” Maglor took a sip of his wine, with a shaky hand, Elrond was encouraging him to use it, not to favor it. He had, Maglor had learned, become something of a healer, during the War.

“Alright.” Elrond sighed, “I’ve been going over building plans with the men and I think we’ll be able to fix the issues they’ve been having with the flooding. Thats the first thing we need to work on, before we start building anything else. This port wasn't built well, it's a disaster waiting to happen. I managed to procure from Círdan building plans for some of the old settlements along the Falas, and I think…”

Maglor let his mind drift away as the drone of Elrond’s voice in the background filled his ears. So Hala was coming at last.... Maglor had a feeling he could not quiet about her, on top of his fear.... It felt that there was more to her ancestry than she said, too many things didn’t add up. A peredhel she was, or so he was told. The child of a Haladin woman and one of Carnistir’s folk, and raised at Thargelion. After the death of her father, she had been raised largely by Maglor’s brother himself.

Maglor felt a kick to his ankle, and looked at Elrond with a start, who was smiling. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?” 

Maglor sighed. “Forgive me, elya.”

“Fëanorions think too much, you know that?”

“Nolofinwions think not enough,” Maglor quipped in return, reflexively.

“Well, it is a good thing I am both. Balance. What is on your mind?”

Maglor looked away. “Hala.”

“Why? I’ve told you, she won’t be hard on you.”

“It’s not that….”

Elrond sighed, “Atya, is it so hard to believe there was a side to your brother you couldn’t have fathomed while in Aman? Eru knows you lot all discovered evil things you didn’t think you were capable of, why not good things, too? Maybe Caranthir did raise her, found it in his heart to care for a child… Why is that so hard to believe? You, of all people…”

Maglor didn’t turn to look at Elrond, but hmmm'd. It’s not that he thought Carnistir incapable of the kindness it would take to raise a child, but the stories he’s heard from Elrond of Hala’s upbringing….. Maglor supposed it would make sense to Elrond, the idea of Elves, particularly Fëanorions, fostering wayward peredhil, given his own rearing, but fostering is not something the Eldar do. At least not the Calaquendi. It was unheard of for a child to grow up without their birth parents, fostering was not an instinct or concept they would have understood, and Carnistir certainly wouldn’t have. Even Maglor did not fully understand it until he experienced it. For Carnistir to take such an active role in a child’s upbringing….

“Well…” Elrond shrugged, stabbing his fork into his pie, and nudging Maglor's plate closer to him to get him to eat, “You’ll meet her tomorrow. Ask her yourself.”

—

Hala sat down, leaning back to look at Celebrimbor thoughtfully. She had joined him in his forge, where he was analyzing jewels he intended to set in to a new sword.

“Don’t bother,” He said, unprompted “Gil-galad has already asked.”

“Hello to you, too. And did he ask? Or did he do the thing he does where he sort of dangles a concept in your vicinity to gauge your reaction?”

Celebrimbor sighed, and set his jewels down so he could pull off his gloves and turn to face her. “The latter. Because he understands, somehow more than you, it seems, why I might not want to re-involve myself with my uncle.”

Hala snorted, and gave Celebrimbor a cheeky grin. She was an odd looking creature- having been born a century before the peredhil were given their choice, she had aged oddly. Silver ran through her black hair, and she had wrinkles all around her face- and yet she still somehow managed to look in her twenties, by the standards of men, and her warrior’s body was healthy and hale.

“For better or for worse, Maglor Fëanorion has been accepted back among the Eldar, and you’re going to have to face him at some point, learn to tolerate him. I’m not asking you to be his friend, come on, Celbë, I’m asking you to join me and Elrond in leading a new settlement for the Noldor. You belong with us. You more than either of us.”

“That’s not true.” Celebrimbor said, beginning to move around his forge to tidy it up. It was a mess. As head of the Smith’s guild, he had his own small, private one, and with no one else to be considerate of, and his father no longer here to nag him, he seldom kept it in order. And there was seldom a better time to tidy than when you were trying to avoid something. “You and Elrond are just as Noldorin as I.” He continued, then paused, “Just as Fëanorion.”

“That’s not true.” Hala stood up, crossing in front of Celebrimbor. “Elrond and I were born far later, you remember the Noldor as refugees under the stars, when Maglor was regent, Beleriand before Men, before even the host of Fingolfin arrived.” Hala sighed, “You knew all the sons of Fëanor. I knew none but Caranthir, Elrond only Maglor and Maedhros.”

“I did not know all of them.” Celebrimbor sighed, knowing he was simply being difficult now, for no reason. Something his father might have been proud of.

“One out of seven was unknown to you!” She said, exasperatedly, “But that matters not, it doesn’t even matter what standing you have as a leader among the Noldor, you speak Khuzdûl, you know the dwarves better than any other Elf we could recruit for such a task.”

“I know.” It was Celebrimbor’s turn to sigh in exasperation, “And under any other circumstances I would gladly offer you my help and skills, but…”

“But…?” She prompted when he trailed off and didn’t continue. “But….” He swallowed.

“He is not your father, Celebrimbor. He’s not even Celegorm. Or Maedhros.” Celebrimbor sighed, again, “That doesn’t matter! The Sons of Fëanor are a monolith, Hala. They are one single entity in the memories of most. Why do you think I forsook my entire house, not just my father?”

“Then why did you give Gil-galad your blessing to pardon him? What is it you fear, cousin?”

Celebrimbor snatched a mostly clean rag from a pile, to wipe away the soot from his face, and caught a glimpse of himself in an unadorned shield. In forge light he always looked too much blike his father for his own comfort. Celebrimbor turned to look away from himself, the memory of his father, to Hala. She looked even more like Caranthir than Elrond often looked like Maglor, but the gentle pity in her face softened the resemblance now, to his relief. “I gave Gil-galad my blessings because it is not for us to decide who anyone else can or cannot forgive. It is tyranny for him to decree that Maglor cannot find forgiveness and healing among his people, if there are people who would forgive. But…. I am not just anyone, Hala. If I cast my lot with my uncle, with our house, and he betrays us again…”

“You fear that you will be cast out, too.” She said softly. 

“You do not understand, Hala. You are so lucky! Caranthir…. When he decided he would keep his siring of you a secret, he kept you free from the bondage of our House. The Oath is a chain, a chain that my grandfather forged and though he did not shackle me in it as he did his sons, I have been tangled in it my entire life! I don’t want to be tangled in it again!”

“I think….” Hala ran a hand down Celebrimbor’s shoulder. “That you are not the same elf you are when last you knew your father and uncles. More sure footed are you. Your back straighter. You are your own elf now, not your father’s shadow…. The chains will no longer trip you, what’s more.” She folded her arms, “The chain is not so long as it once was, nor as strong. With mercy, and time, it will grow shorter and shorter, until it no longer binds anyone. The chain of the Oath was forged in fear, and fear keeps it strong.”

“You can’t understand.” Celebrimbor said weakly, “You and Elrond- he is freed by the lack of Fëanorion blood in his veins and you by the lack of the Fëanorion mantle your father never placed upon your brow.”

“I know.” Hala said, softly, pulling her cousin into her arms, “I know, and I have made my case now, but the final choice…. It is yours alone. I only plead with you to come with me, Elrond and I need you by our side."

"Will you tell him?" Celebrimbor muttered into her shoulder. "Who you are?"

There was silence for a few moments, before she finally said, "Yes. I do not fear truth. I will not fear truth, or forgiveness."

-

“It is odd.” Malgor said, “That we are not going to meet the arrival of Hala’s ship at the docks.” He laid down a card on their kitchen table, as a sea breeze blew in their window. 

“Yes… But thats her preference. She doesn’t like pomp and circumstance, and she really doesn’t like public spectacles.” Elrond said, examining Maglor’s card thoroughly, before looking back at his hand. It was late afternoon in Forlond, and the entire town was abuzz, waiting for the arrival of the governor's ship, at long last, and yet, most of them sat in their homes, killing time meaninglessly as Elrond and Maglor were now. Elrond shot a wary look at Maglor, then flattened his ears slightly when he said, “And I think when she meets you, she’d rather it be in private.”

Maglor laughed, “Most people would prefer to meet a Son of Fëanor in public, where there are witnesses. And more people to intervene.”

“Hush. Hala isn’t a fool. She’s not afraid of you. I actually don't think she's afraid of anything. And she could take you in a fight, I’m sure, anyway.” Maglor tapped a card to his lips thoughtfully, when a knock came to the door. “Oh, that must be-”

Elrond saw Maglor’s ears flatten, suddenly, and his entire face go white, Elrond blinked in surprise. “Maglor?”

“Celebrimbor is here.” Maglor said, hoarsely.

“Celbë is?” Elrond said in surprise, getting up to go to the door, he pulled it open, and indeed, standing at Hala’s shoulder was Celebrimbor.

Hala smiled, “It is good to see you, Elrond.”

Elrond bowed, then smiled at Celebrimbor, “Celbë, I-I…. I had not looked to see you here.”

“Show us in, would you?” Hala asked, “It’s been a long journey, I’d like to sit.”

“I- yes.” Elrond stood aside for them to walk in, and watched warily as Celebrimbor’s eyes met Maglor’s, who was now standing. Hala, it seemed, was unbothered, and unaffected by the tension in the room. She strode in and tossed her cloak on the couch. “Uncle.” Celebrimbor acknowledged, with a bow. “Celebrimbor.” Maglor breathed.

“It is a small house, Elrond. I noticed all the homes here are thus, but this one seems particularly small.” Elrond watched as Maglor’s eyes drifted to Hala, who was still not acknowledging him, and a funny expression came over Maglor’s face. “Yes,” Elrond said, tightly, “Maglor and I can do well for ourselves with something small. We presumed you would be bringing families with you, and decided to leave all the bigger houses available. We’re quite happy here, but I confess, Hala, I-I had not expected you to drop by. I presumed I'd meet you t-tomorrow, at city hall.”

Hala had begun pacing around the tiny single roomed hut, hitting her hand on the infrastructure and examining it. Celebrimbor came further into the room, pulling off his cloak and opting to hang it on a hook, instead of the couch, which he then placed himself onto. Hala sighed, and turned to face the room. "Yes, well. Sorry to surprise you. Both with myself and Celebrimbor, but there are matters which the four of us need to discuss, in private, before things start getting underway, properly.

Maglor tore his eyes away from Hala, and said, "I'll put the kettle on." Hala came at last to sit in the armchair next to the couch, exhaling a sigh, and Elrond moved to gather up the things he’d need to brief Hala on the state of Forlond.

Hala gestured at Celebrimbor, "The King and I figured, given the nature of the trading venture we're to undertake, Celebrimbor's skills with their language, culture, and knowledge of their craft would come in handy."

Celebrimbor smiled nervously, "It seemed to not make sense for me not to come."

Elrond nodded, smiling awkwardly, as Maglor let out a strangled sigh from his position by the stove, and Elrond shifted nervously towards him. Maglor got like this, sometimes. Agitated and overwhelmed, nothing ill had come of it yet, but Elrond was still wary.

"Indeed, Celebrimbor, my nephew," he exclaimed, "As much sense as it makes for you to have come, I was still rather under the impression that you were going to steer clear of me!"

"Would you rather I had?"

"Of course not! But also yes. Nephew, I am glad to see you, of course I am! But I cannot help but think you would have been better off not involving yourself with me."

"As did I. But Hala has convinced me otherwise."

Maglor turned to look at Hala, brows furrowed. "And why would she do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Hala asked, measuredly. "I need him here, I'm not going to let some nonsensical fear of you keep him from being an asset to me."

"Nonsensical!" Maglor sputtered, in outrage. "I would have expected you to agree with me!"

"Why?" Hala asked again. 

"Why else would your father have kept you a secret from us, if not fear of our ruin?"

A smirk came over Hala's face now, slow and knowing, as Elrond blinked at Maglor, perplexed by the comment.

“I was wondering how easily you’d be able to tell." Hala said. 

"Of course I can tell!" Maglor's words were derisive, "Did you think you'd be able to keep it a secret from me? Even if you did not look far too much like him to have simply gained it from his rearing of you, you cannot possibly think I would not be able to sense my brothers blood coursing through your veins?!"

"What?!" Elrond choked out in surprise, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, arms full of papers.

"In truth," Hala said, with a grunt as she stood up from the chair, "I had no intention of keeping it a secret from you. It's part of the reason I wished to first meet you in private. If the four of us are to undertake this venture successfully, there's more than just a single boulder in the road for us to clear out. There's something more like an entire quarry."

" _ I'M SORRY _ !" Elrond cried again, loudly, stamping his foot down, "What is it exactly we are talking about here!?"

"I told you, elya." Maglor said, gesturing at Hala, "She is not simply Caranthir's ward."

Hala turned to look at Elrond. "I am his daughter. In flesh and blood."

Elrond dropped everything he was carrying then, looking at her in wide eyed shock, as if a dragon had just landed in his living room. An unknown heir of Fëanor stood before him, a  _ daughter  _ of that house, otherwise filled so entirely with sons. How was this kept a secret.  _ Why _ ?

"How? Why?" Elrond sputtered, voicing his thoughts, then turning to Celebrimbor, "Did you know?"

"I did know." Celebrimbor said, apologetically. "I've known since I met her. As Maglor said... It's impossible not to detect such a close bond of blood kinship."

Hala placed her hands on her hips and sighed. "My father didn't want me growing up bound up in the Oath, or the reputation, that plagued his house. He saw the burden it placed on Celebrimbor.... And feared the Doom that was pronounced would be passed down to me. And so he tried to keep me out of it."

"Moryo," Maglor muttered in amazement, turning around to remove the kettle from the stove, at it began to sing, "Who would have thought he had the fortitude to keep such a secret from us?"

"He was a better elf than any of you knew." Hala said, resolutely, "Would you have had him tell you all? Do you resent him for doing what he thought was best for his child?"

"No," Maglor said, bringing the kettle out to pour cups of tea. "I am proud of him, he made a hard choice that took courage and, yes, as you say, kept his child safe."

Elrond sank down on the couch next to Celebrimbor, who squeezed his knee, as Maglor poured the tea in front of them and Hala watched.

"But that is exactly why I would have expected you to agree that it is best Celebrimbor stay away from me." 

Hala breathed out her nose, "Just because I understand and respect my father's decision, does not mean I would have made that decision myself. I don't ever believe secrets or avoidance are the answers, personally. But, I also do not fear the Oath. I think it is toothless, now that Morgoth is gone, and I do not think the House of Fëanor has nothing good left to give to the world."

"What do you mean?" Maglor's brow furrowed.

Hala smiled, and jerked her chin at the couch where Celebrimbor and Elrond sat. "Look at these two, would you? Were they not raised by the House of Fëanor?"

Maglor turned to regard his nephew, and Elrond, and, despite himself, smiled at the sight of them.

"They were."

"And they are two of the kindest souls I have ever known, and talented. They both have much to give the world, and they do so as members of your House."

"Hala...." Celebrimbor said, sheepishly.

Hala put her hands on her hips in defiance. "I'm choosing to wash my hands of the past, Maglor Fëanorion, uncle. I told Celebrimbor this, and I mean it. I don't fear you, for fear is a prison, a weakness and a detriment. I think fear of the Oath, and darkness, drove it's bloodshed more than the Oath itself. In choosing to buck the fear of the Oath, we don't let it control us."

Maglor and Hala looked at each other for a long while, before Maglor bowed his head. "I think, niece, you are right. And yet, fear governs me. It has for many centuries. If fear is danger than I am still yet a danger." 

"And yet you will not learn bravery by being driven out into the cold. Bravery is born of kindness, and compassion."

Maglor turned to look at his nephew. "Can you really forgive me?"

"Forgiveness.... is not a lever I can flip, but compassion and tolerance are not contingent on forgiveness."

Maglor cocked his head. "This is true."

Hala sighed, and gathered the hands of her uncle, and her cousins in hers, cradling them all, her hands were large, Maglor noticed, like Carnistir's had been. "We four are the remains of a broken house. Three of us were born to it, and one is here by circumstance and choice, but it matters not. What  _ does  _ matter is what we decide to make of it. Shall we take the shattered remnants and reforge them into a fine tool for our people? Or shall we let them remain broken forever, and remembered as such."

"We shall reforge." Elrond said, fiercely, speaking for the first time in a while, and looking at Hala with wide blazing eyes. "There is always the future, that's why I chose the path I did, to be immortal." He looked at her with all the passion he could, feeling that if anyone would understand this, she would, "I won't give up on the future, won't let it be just as dark as the past."

"Look at you four." Maglor whispered, "The grandchildren of Fëanor."

"May our choices bear us to a better future than our fathers." Celebrimbor said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooly moly it's been a while! Happy New Year everyone! As always, sorry for the length between updates. I feel like all I do is complain about how bad I am about being consistent with my writing, but this year has been a struggle! Here's to hoping 2020 brings me better work/life balance skills! I'm working on getting this fit to be a weekly update! As ever, thank you for bearing with me, for reading, and for commenting! It means the world to me <3 As another note, I got some feedback on my last chapter about Elrond's feelings about Elwing. To clarify, I do not think Elwing was a Bad Mother™ for leaving her sons behind, and I don't think Elrond does either. For more on what I think re: Elrond/Elwing, I wrote a fic about it! https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723327


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